


Full Circle

by fhsa_archivist



Category: Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter - Laurell K. Hamilton
Genre: Drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-11-07
Updated: 2005-11-07
Packaged: 2019-02-05 14:53:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12796791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhsa_archivist/pseuds/fhsa_archivist
Summary: Refers to a scene from Chapter 3 of “Whatever Love Requires”�; what Jean-Claude was remembering with that feather!





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Haven, the archivist: This story was originally archived at [Fandom Haven Story Archive (FHSA)](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Fandom_Haven_Story_Archive), was scheduled to shut down at the end of 2016. To preserve the archive, I began working with the OTW to transfer the stories to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2017. If you are this creator and the work hasn't transferred to your AO3 account, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Fandom Haven Story Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/fhsa/profile).

_Jean-Claude laughed, the sexy sound sending shivers down Jason’s spine. “You are aware our naughty kitty is quite ticklish? Trust me Mon Loup, and consider this in your imagination. Your leopard, bound and unable to move, helpless to stop you. He is blindfolded, so he cannot see what you are going to do. You stroke the feather gently over his feet, his armpits, the insides of the thighs, his genitals… slowly, over and over, different places, relentless, making him writhe, to jerk away from its soft touch. He pleads for you to stop, to give him release. Tease him with your mouth occasionally; cause him pain when he least expects it. You will drive him into a frenzy,” Jean-Claude said dreamily, obviously lost in a pleasant memory. “Remember, Mon Ami, torment does not always mean pain.”_

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Jean-Claude finished instructing his pupil in the seductive use of a feather, and sent the novice Dom happily off with his box of new toys. He smiled fondly at Jason’s retreating back; he respected and loved his Pomme de Sang, and would do much to keep him happy.

 

Jean-Claude shook his head sympathetically at the task ahead of the young wolf. He doubted Jason understood his role completely yet, but was confident that he would soon have an epiphany in that regard and begin to assert his authority. Nathaniel was a true submissive, but he was not above manipulation to get his way, and he seemed to be exhibiting some of Anita’s more aggressive tendencies through his link with her in the secondary Triumvirate. 

 

Well content with himself, Jean-Claude lounged back and allowed his mind to drift into the reverie of happy memories. A knowing smile graced his lips as he remembered his erotic introduction to bondage and a simple feather’s pleasures, and the series of events that lead up to that rare blissful interlude from his time at court with Belle.

************************************************************************

They were returning from the opera, Asher, Bastien and himself, casually talking and laughing as they enjoyed the evening and each others' company. “Pygmalion” it had been, and Jean-Claude had adored the combination of Opera and Ballet. They made a dashing threesome as they confidently walked the avenue; each of them tall and handsome, with a swordsman’s grace and a lord’s air. They had not gotten far from the opera house when their senses were assailed with the intoxicating odor of blood and fear.

 

Bastien’s liquid brown eyes quickly bled solid at the possibility of a hunt, and his long russet hair began to float about his face as his power crackled about him. Like his companions, he was a master vampire, but he was young, no more than forty, and less experienced at controlling his impulses. Wounded prey was nearby, and although they had all fed upon rising, the close proximity of a potential feast was too good to pass by.

 

Asher and Jean-Claude smiled at the youngster’s eagerness, and nodded their approval of a hunt. They had not yet begun to track the source of the blood when they were interrupted by a horseman, a young nobleman who rode up hard, checking his mount to a harsh stop in front of them. His lathered horse threw his head in protest, and the man gave a cruel jerk to the rein in punishment. Eyes rolling, the spent animal stood twitching and nervously worrying the bit.

 

He nodded a perfunctory greeting to the three of them, and Bastien quickly ducked his head to hide his eyes. “I am looking for a runaway, monsieurs. The fool bolted to avoid a thrashing,” he explained angrily, his eyes searching the shadows. “Have you by chance spotted him? A young one, no more than twenty, longish curly hair with a fleur-de-lis brand on his right arm?”

 

“Non,” Asher answered for them in an annoyed, clipped voice. He had taken an instant dislike to the arrogant way the young lord questioned them, and saw no need to be polite back. “We have seen no one like that. Good evening, Monsieur,” he said in dismissal.

 

Irritated by Asher’s disrespectful tone, the fool looked prepared to berate him for it when he caught the look, the predatory feel, of the three of them. Their powers had already been excited by the scent of blood, and they were staring intently at the man with an undisguised killing gleam in their eyes. Sensing the closeness of death, he wisely decided not to risk further insult, and mumbling a brief thanks, nervously backed his horse to open ground and with a sharp crack of his crop cantered away. 

 

Bastien smirked at the retreating fop, and returned his attention to the task at hand. As soon as the horse and rider were out of sight, he swiftly followed his senses in search of their prey. Jean-Claude and Asher, older and more in control of their desires, trailed behind at a more leisurely pace.

 

The runaway slave was located in short order, huddled in the shadows of a dank alleyway. Bastien’s bloodlust cooled as he waited for his companion’s arrival. He was the least of the three of them, and knew better than to have the audacity to make the kill himself. Besides, after finding the abused slave, he felt a stronger desire to hunt the master. As soon as Jean-Claude and Asher arrived, the two older vampires passed Bastien smoothly, and stood side by side a short distance away examining the wretch.

 

The man was naked, except for a ratty pair of drawstring pants, and the blood they had scented came from the poor slave’s feet. He had fled barefooted, and the stone walkways and cobblestone streets had ripped his soles to bloody shreds. His skin was coffee colored, and Asher remarked softly, “He must be a mulatto”, as they approached the trembling slave. They may no longer have been human, but the miserable condition of the abject man before them was enough to still move them to pity.

 

The huddled slave was aware of their presence, but made no attempt to run, seemingly resigned to whatever painful fate was in store for him. Jean-Claude winced in empathy at the number of whip scars on the prostrate man’s back. His bastard of an owner obviously had as heavy a hand with his servants as he did his animals. He felt Asher’s hand on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze in sympathy. “Merde!” he murmured kindly, “It would be a mercy to drain this one. At least we would have the knowledge that we sent him to his God’s judgment writhing in ecstasy. I doubt that he has ever known pleasure in his life.”

 

Asher gave Jean-Claude’s shoulder a final compassionate pat, and slowly approached the cringing boy. Crouching down in front him, he gently grasped his chin and lifted his face to roll him. Jean-Claude was amazed to hear him exclaim, “Exquisite!”, and quickly came closer to see what had so shocked Asher.

 

He soon had his answer, stopping dead in astonishment as he got a good look at the face clutched in Asher’s hand. Terrified blue eyes, a blue the color of the Caribbean ocean, stared up at him from a delicately proportioned, bruised face. Set against his rich, dark skin tone, the contrast was startling and beautiful. ‘Most definitely a mulatto, and possibly a quadroon’, Jean-Claude thought. ‘The man was a fool to abuse such a jewel as this one.’

 

Asher’s exclamation, coupled with the sight of the two of them entranced by a mere human slave, piqued Bastien’s curiosity and he hastily approached to see what his companions were so intensely interested in. As soon as he laid eyes on the slave, his cooling bloodlust was quickly replaced with a lust of another kind. He was of Belle’s line, after all, and one of Asher’s get, so his sexual attraction to the boy was understandable. It was his instant possessiveness that stunned both his Maker and Jean-Claude. 

 

Eyes smoldering with desire, Bastien swiftly shouldered past them, kneeling in front of the slave and peering intently into his eyes. Gently running his hand down a bruised cheek, he inquired tenderly, “What are you called, young one?”

 

“Mercy, Master, please..” the mulatto pleaded in an accent the exotic timbre of the tropics, a sound both endearing and sexy to the ear. Jean-Claude doubted he even heard Bastien’s question in his hopeless terror. 

 

Bastien persevered patiently. “Your name, boy. What is your name?”

 

“Paul, Master,” he whimpered fearfully.

 

With a smile, Bastien lifted the surprised slave to his abused feet and announced in a domineering tone that shocked both Asher and Jean-Claude, “You’re mine now.” His arm encircling the boy’s waist, Bastien walked away from his astounded companions and slowly led the limping man home.

 

Asher watched their retreating backs and with a knowing sigh turned to Jean-Claude. “Bastien is a fool to make such a proclamation. Belle is going to take an interest,” he said resignedly.

 

Jean-Claude thoughtfully nodded in agreement. Those blue eyes, shining brightly against the backdrop of his skin, were guaranteed to attract the attention of their mistress. She had a fondness for blue eyes, as they well knew. “Oui,” he nodded in agreement, “Belle will want that one as a toy.”

 

Asher placed his hand in the small of Jean-Claude’s back, and urged him forward. “Come, Mon Ami. You can help me in a futile attempt to keep my offspring out of trouble for something he no doubt considers to be a mere peccadillo,” he said as he coaxed him into following Bastien home. Jean-Claude just rolled his eyes in disgust; if they intended to keep Paul from the clutches of Belle, it would take more than the two of them to avoid the wrath of their mistress. It was going to take a miracle.


	2. Chapter Two

Their miracle was Asher. He knew Belle Morte the best; knew she could smell a falsehood before it was uttered, so he decided that the best tack to take was a lie of omission. They found Belle in her self styled throne room, surrounded by her usual coterie of fawning sycophants and preparing for an evening of debauch entertainment. Asher and Jean-Claude, her favorites both, glided forward and lounged indolently on either side of her. Asher began to regale her with the story of the impertinent nobleman and how they sent him scampering away in terror. Belle smirked as she listened to their tale. She had always enjoyed when the high and mighty were brought low. Finding and bringing Paul home was mentioned as an afterthought, as just another means to annoy the fop who had the temerity to insult them. Asher simply neglected to describe his mouth watering beauty to her. 

 

Belle absently assented to Bastien’s request to keep him as a personal slave, quickly losing interest in what they were saying as her hooded eyes watched the two vampires fucking for her pleasure. It was an old game with her; they had been told the first one to come would be punished severely, and each was doing their creative best to force the other to climax.

 

Taking her inattention as a dismissal, the threesome made a hasty exit, and quickly installed Paul in Bastien’s quarters. Neither Asher nor Jean-Claude understood the instant smoldering desire the young master vampire had for the slave, nor did they care. They simply accepted it, and resolved to help as well as they could. They left the two of them together, Bastien murmuring soothing words as though to a skittish colt, and softly licking the blood from the soles of Paul’s feet and allowing his power to roll over and calm the boy. 

 

Their relationship quickly deepened from Master and Servant to devoted lovers. Bastien’s persistent patience and kindness wore away Paul’s cringing demeanor and fearful eyes and replaced it with looks of arousal and adoration. Bastien changed, too, exuding an air of contentment and power that had not been there previously.

 

Jean-Claude and Asher both refrained from visiting Paul and drawing attention to the slave. Their subterfuge worked for longer than any of them dreamed possible, and Paul remained beneath Belle’s notice until the day Paolo had spotted him in his master’s arms, and scurried off like the sniveling informer he was to tell Belle of the gorgeous blue eyed human living in Bastien’s quarters. Furious that such a prize was being hidden from her, Belle had immediately demanded that the slave be presented for her pleasure.

 

There was little Jean-Claude and Asher could do to assist the young vampire after their ruse had been uncovered. They had both expected Bastien to be distraught, but he had calmly entered the chamber with Paul. Schooling their faces, they watched with bored courtier expressions from their usual perches on either side of their mistress as the couple walked swiftly through audience chambers, completely oblivious to the lascivious looks being raked over the mulatto by vampire and human alike. As soon as they reached Belle, Paul knelt before her with Bastien at his side.

 

Bastien bowed deeply, and announced, “Mistress, allow me to present to you Paul.” He paused and slowly straightened, and looked Belle directly in the eyes.

 

“My human servant.”

 

The chamber erupted in a cacophony of noise. It was unheard of for a master vampire of Bastien’s tender years to take a human servant. Jean-Claude smiled to himself; the young rogue had been precocious as a human as well. It was what had attracted Asher to the young man in the first place. Asher was beaming with pride at the audacity and cleverness of his offspring, but his eyes held fear also. Belle was furious, and would make his young one pay. 

 

Jean-Claude could feel the heat of Belle’s anger, but he knew there was little she could immediately do about this turn of events. She had given the slave to Bastien, and a master vampire needed no one’s permission to take a human servant. Like as not, the delectable coffee colored treat she craved was now by vampire law forever out of her reach.

 

He shifted his eyes to Asher, who caught his look and gave an imperceptible shrug of his shoulders. There was going to be hell to pay with Belle, and as members of her inner circle it would be up to them to help mitigate the backlash. Merde, but containing her rage was going to be like stopping an avalanche with your bare hands. They could only hope that they did not suffer for their efforts.

************************************************************************

_Seven months later_.

 

Jean-Claude and Asher stood beside the cross wrapped coffin, preparing to release the vampire entrapped inside. It had been six months, and Bastien’s punishment was coming to an end. Belle had not waited long for her revenge. Neither one of them could recall what trumped up reason their mistress had given for the torture, but everyone had known it was in retaliation for Bastien making Paul his human servant and keeping him forever out of her reach. Denying Belle had always been a chancy proposition.

 

Paul paced next to the coffin, anxiously awaiting the release of his master. He was thin, and weaker than normal because Belle had insisted that his provisions be limited. She did not want Bastien to be able feed from him; she wanted them both to suffer. But Paul had bravely risked her anger and had begged, borrowed, and stolen food to supplement his diet and help sustain his imprisoned lover. 

 

When the last of the crosses and chains had been removed, Bastien pushed the coffin opened himself. He sat up, wincing in pain at the movement, and squinting in the light. Jean-Claude watched as Paul quickly leaned into the coffin, and kissed Bastien. A long, sensual, spine tingling kiss; a kiss to satisfy them both that they were once again together; a kiss that erased the pain of the last six months of separation and torture. He knew the human servant broke away sooner than he wished, but his master had more pressing needs. Paul presented his wrist to Bastien, and swooned as the half starved vampire bit and began to suck. Even weakened, he had insisted that he be the one to feed his freed lover.

 

Jean-Claude sighed at the tragedy he was watching. They had talked, Asher and he, about the couple. That Bastien could not stay was a given. Even though it was beneath Belle’s dignity and reputation to allow a mere slave and a single master vampire not even of her making to vex her, they knew she would never relent in her desire for revenge. She would never be satisfied until she had destroyed them both. 

 

“Bastien,” Asher called, and the feeding vampire rolled his eyes and looked at him. “Belle will never forgive, never forget. She will not rest until she has both your deaths in retribution. You must leave, and leave tonight. Jean-Claude and I have arranged a carriage for your disposal; do not tell us where you intend to go, and do not contact us when you get there. Good luck, Mon Amis. I wish you well.”

 

There was nothing more to be said, and no point in lingering. They both simply turned and walked sadly away. It had been the last they had seen of the two.

************************************************************************

As soon as they left the chamber, Jean-Claude turned to Asher and released the pent up anger he felt. “They did nothing, NOTHING to deserve such torment and exile! We are but playthings for her every whim, every torture. How long until it is you and I are the ones in those coffins, the ones she is torturing?” he ranted at his golden haired lover and confidante.

 

Asher closed the distance between them, grasping Jean-Claude’s face in his hands and kissing him, kissing him like Paul had kissed Bastien, so deeply and thoroughly that Jean-Claude’s mind simply stopped and he surrendered to the pleasurable sensation. Sooner than he wished, Asher broke off the kiss and his piercing blue eyes stared intensely into his own. “Dangerous talk, Mon Ami. What is, is. We have done what we can for the young ones.” 

 

Asher trapped Jean-Claude against the stone wall, leaning in to whisper provocatively, “I will give you a diversion. You have resisted me in this, but now is the time for you to submit. Come with me, and I will show you that torment can be exquisite, and I will make you forget all and think only of pleasure.” He leaned in closer, and whispered seductively in Jean-Claude’s ear, “Think only of ME.”

 

Heady with desire, Jean-Claude shivered in anticipation, and nodded his assent.

 

Asher bound him to his bed, naked and blindfolded, and spent hours teasing and tormenting him with his hands, mouth, and a feather. The same feather he had given to Jason. Bringing him to the brink, only to deny him release. Stroking along his feet, his thighs, his seeping erection until he was writhing on the bed, pulling against his bonds, begging him to stop and half afraid he would. 

 

Asher was true to his word. For the entire evening, Jean-Claude thought of nothing but the sensations coursing through his body, and of Asher. In the end, he had been reduced to begging Asher to show him mercy and allow him relief. He had moaned, and thrashed about, wantonly thrusting his hips upward in mute appeal, pleading with the man to take him, to fuck him hard. Asher had ripped off his blind fold, and had taken him brutally, as Jean-Claude had begged for, brutal and pounding until they had both screamed their pleasure and collapsed in a sweaty, enervated tangle, eyes closed and hearts pounding in unison.

************************************************************************

Jean-Claude took a deep, shaky breath, aroused by the memory. Asher had been the stronger one then, the one who took charge. That was not the case now. He grinned wickedly with the thought that he had never turned the tables on his golden haired lover, and silently commanded that his Temoin attend him. Perhaps he would ask him to call Bastien home. That the vampire was alive there was no doubt; Asher would have felt his death. Jean-Claude was now a Sourdre de Sang of his own line, and a power that even the council respected. The two lovers could find a safe haven here.

 

Jean-Claude smiled wickedly. The young ones could wait; he had more pressing matters to deal with. There had to be another feather here somewhere.


End file.
